Still The Night
by Anna Queen
Summary: Set immediately after episode 11, S7. Closeness, comfort, Christmas, and a little bit of spuffy magic. Enjoy.


Still The Night 

The world is so quiet tonight. He can hear her breathing, soft and shallow, and he knows she's awake. 

Sometimes he'd lie awake for hours, wrapped in the nearness of her, count every rise and fall of her breath against his skin. In the stillness it was easier to believe. She was different asleep; closer, more fragile; touched by some, quiet, yearning vulnerability; the whisper of an unconscious invitation. And he wanted to be there for her, be there with her and know that it mattered to her. He wanted to tell himself it was real, that he could hold on to her and she wouldn't go, not this time. 

Maybe it was always a dream. Maybe it was only in his head that a vampire loved a girl until he felt her breath drawn in and out of his own, long-dead lungs; felt her heartbeat rock his own, lifeless body. Maybe it was only in his head that somewhere, some vampire lay, a fingerwidth from the woman he loved, and knew the touch of her breath playing at his neck for the first time in his whole existence.

In the long nights, and the long days, and the blood and the pain and the fire afterwards it seemed like a dream. 

But he can still hear her breathing, soft and shallow, and she's closer than she's ever been, even though he knows she's awake.

_* * * * *_

The world is so quiet tonight. She can feel him breathe, and she knows he's awake. Maybe it's cold but she doesn't feel it. She only feels him, so close, so warm against her. So alive.

_* * * * *_

Somewhere inside of her there is still a little girl. A little girl that lies awake at night and remembers her mom's arms around her. A little girl that had to grow up fast, so fast she sometimes feels like she left herself behind.

The grown-up her that's had to be mommy tells her he's right, he should be back in the basement, out of harm's way. But the little girl can't do it, not tonight. Not tonight because he's so broken, and because it's Christmas.

He knows she's awake. She can't hide much from him; she never could. So she pushes herself up on her elbows, looks across at him.

"Do you mind if I open the window?"

"I would need a body temperature to mind you opening the window."

She catches her breath, because there is the strangest mixture of sarcasm and warmth and gallantry in his voice, and it's not so very long since she wondered whether she'd ever hear his voice again.

Beneath her Sunnydale sleeps, cocooned in an electric blanket of borrowed starlight; a fractured halo that flashes red and gold and blue and green. She turns back to him, her face glowing with something more than festive goodwill. 

"Drink?"

She feels his eyes sink into her neck with a hunger that is only half play. "It's tempting." He bites his lip, wicked blue light smiling across at her. "But I'll pass. I'm told Sunnydale needs its Slayer, and besides, this vampire has a soul to maintain." 

_* * * * *_

What price your soul? Oh God, what price your soul? If she can hold him against her, keep him this way forever, isn't that enough? Because he's hers, and she can't bear to lose him, not now, not now he's really here. She'd do anything to save him. Sometimes she almost believes she could. If loving him was enough. 

_* * * * *_

She curls her fingers round her hot chocolate, watching the marshmallows as they sink into molten surrender. So easy to go the same way, lose herself in the heat and the warmth and the satisfaction of it. So easy to believe she can just let Christmas happen and not have to make Christmas happen.

She knows he's watching her as he sits and sips the drink she got for him . It gave her something to do while she was waiting for the kettle to boil. Ten minutes breathing space; ten minutes to try and reclaim her head. She tells herself that she's just saved his life; that it's enough; that she can stop and hide in her hot chocolate if she wants. But she doesn't want; she just needs to be there, near him; remind herself that it's OK, that he's safe, that she saved him. 

So she does this one more thing for him, as if saving his life wasn't enough, because as long as she can go on doing something for him she can keep with him, keep hold of him and keep hold of that soul that sometimes seems so much, so far beyond anything she wanted from him. 

But it's hers for safekeeping, that soul of his, so she lets herself do this one more thing for him.

Gets the blood out of the fridge where she's kept it, hung onto it like the hope she's kept alive inside her; warms it in the pan until she can't feel the heat of her own finger in it. Screws up her face but it's only a token gesture; she doesn't really mind it. 

"Is that good?"

"For me or the pig?" He's laughing at her, laughing at them both, vampire and slayer, the beautiful irony of it. "Take your pick. It's better than rat."

"You want marshmallows?"

He catches her eye, grins, and she goes on because even though she has nothing much to say she feels nearer to him when he looks at her like that.

"I'm thinking maybe if I just go to sleep right now Santa might take the hint and get on over here." 

"Been a good girl then, Slayer?" 

The old Spike would have said that, too, but this time it feels like he believes it, and she smiles inside as she continues.

"And then I'm thinking, maybe Santa could use my help. I mean, it's a big world. It's a lot of responsibility for one person."

He hears what she's saying, hesitates a little as he forms his reply. "Buffy, you – " 

Broken fingers give way suddenly, glass tumbling to the floor, blood spilt, the price of an ordeal she knows no other man could have borne.

She moves forward instinctively.

"And now I'm thinking, maybe my vampire with a soul could use a little help too."

It's a butterfly comment, featherlight; pretty words meant to smooth over the mess, save his dignity as she picks the glass up for him. But the 'my' resounds in the air between them as if a whole throng of angels were singing it out.

_* * * * *_

_Tiny mouth, so real. She feels it against her, warm and wet and so very real. Feels it as he drinks her dry. She cups his head in her hands, holds him tight to her. Can't let him go, can't let him fall. So precious, so very precious._

_* * * * *_

There are a thousand questions she wants to ask him. Maybe tomorrow. Right now she's very close to him, and the closeness is enough. She's so conscious of him, of what he is. Not the vampire, but the man, this great, heroic man who changed everything for her, leaning against her, broken, helpless. 

And she's feeding him like a child. He doesn't feel like a child to her. She does. The little girl in her is so afraid, so happy, so warm. She presses her fingers closer to his around the glass, remembers.

If she closes her eyes she can still see the outline of the cross; the great weight of love for her bowing his shoulders. And she knows in that moment that it isn't bearing down on him anymore. It's holding him up.

* * * * * 

Perhaps its only a shadow, a trick of the light, but sometimes when she looks at him she thinks she sees the outline of a cross, hanging over him like some dark halo. Sometimes she wishes he wouldn't feel it, this great weight of love bearing down on him. But she loves him, and she can't ask him to love less than he does, than he will, than he has to. It's why he's here, her baby, her beautiful son, and maybe that's why she's here too. 

* * * * * 

Suddenly the whole world has come down to this one moment and she doesn't know what to say.

So she does the only thing she can do. She holds him, holds onto him, clings to him in the stillness. Maybe tomorrow will be hard, but right now she knows why she's here. For him. Because it's hers, this great burden of love he carries. 

And in the sky above them every star fades but one, brilliant, shining light that stands over them and tells her to keep believing. 

A/N: I really hope you liked this, the third part to 'My Treasure' and 'Someday I'll tell you'. The title (in case you're wondering) is a translation of the German carol 'Stille nacht', or 'Silent Night'. I love the ambiguity of 'still'.

Disclaimer: Spike and Buffy aren't mine. The Christmas story thread is mine as much as it is anybody's, but not my invention.

God bless you, and have a very happy Christmas!


End file.
